


La Vie En Rouge

by afflicted_evqnescent



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afflicted_evqnescent/pseuds/afflicted_evqnescent
Summary: Alastor LeBlanc had always been a meticulous man. After all, it certainly wouldn't do for him to leave evidence around a crime scene due to his own negligence. Of course, he was only human, and unfortunately prone to careless missteps, as well as the occasional lapse in judgement.This fact was made appallingly clear by the rather… inconvenient situation he was in now."I wouldn't move if I was you… It'd be a real shame if this suit a' yours got ruined, sweetheart."Yes, Alastor had always been a meticulous man. However, he never planned on getting involved with the Mafia, much less slaughter one of its members. It had been an accident, really, and an unlucky one at that.He felt the barrel of the gun press deeper into his back."A real shame indeed."*updates will be sporadic*
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	La Vie En Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: mentions of abuse

Alastor had been no older than five years old when he crept into his parents’ bedroom during that early morning. His father was unceremoniously draped across the couch outside, having crashed into it the night before in a drunken stupor. It would be a few hours until he would stir once again.

This left his mother alone in the room, getting ready for the day ahead. The child ambled over, eyeing the swirls that encircled his mother’s right arm. She examined her appearance in the vanity mirror, taking no notice of the young boy until she felt a tiny hand on her wrist.

“Does this hurt, Mama?” Alastor gently traced the marking with a stubby finger. It was yellow in colour, with intricate designs extending from the original loop. 

It would have looked very pretty indeed if the yellow had been a shade brighter. Just a little more vibrant and alive instead of the sickly hue it had taken on. It would have also helped if the skin around the mark didn’t look so red and irritated.

“No, cher.” His mother answered lightly, before pulling her arm away to cover the designs using a simple white leather band. Alastor couldn’t say he mourned the loss, for it looked better that way.

Later, as he followed her to the kitchen, she would go on to explain that the marking was her soul-bond, which meant that she had met her soulmate.

“You mean Papa?” He had asked, astonished that the miserable pile of limbs passed out in their living room was meant to be the perfect match for his beloved mother. 

She nodded, chuckling at his bewildered expression. Her smile never reached her eyes, he noticed. Perhaps he shouldn’t talk about it anymore. 

Humming, Alastor idly swung his feet in tune with the soft jazz coming from the radio as his mother prepared breakfast. Any question he still had about soul-bonds was quickly forgotten, drowned out by the music he was ever so fond of.

* * *

A few years later, and Alastor fancied himself to have understood the basics of soul-bonds after a few compulsory lessons about soulmates in school. They were quite easy to understand. 

A majority of the population had soulmates, and once a pair of soulmates meet, a special marking would appear on their right arms. Depending on the strength of a bond, the number of rings- also known as levels- a marking possesses varies. To be perfectly candid, Alastor never cared much for the finer details. One shred of information did catch his attention, however.

_If your soulmate was unfaithful, your mark would resemble that of a mosquito bite; red and irritated._

Admittedly, he should have seen that one coming. Memories of how conscious his mother became when questioned about her mark returned to him. Visitors to the household always seemed to eye the band she wore over it. He was old enough to identify the looks of pity on their faces, yet he never understood why.

_Until now._

He tuned out the rest of the class, making a mental note to buy something nice for his poor mother. He knew better, and he would never leave her to shoulder such a weight by herself again.

* * *

When the first fights broke out, Alastor was adamant on staying in the room just in case things escalated out of control. His father’s temper seemed to show itself more and more recently. He detested him for that. Only at his mother’s insistence did he trudge to his own room, but not before taking the radio with him.

Nights like these were when he developed a newfound appreciation for the dusty old thing. If he raised the volume high enough, he could pretend that his father’s irate shouting and his mother’s strangled sobs were nothing but figments of his imagination, muffled by staticky music.

Momentarily soothed, he found his thoughts straying towards the issue of soulmates once more.

Alastor had never understood the fanfare that came with being burdened with another person. His schoolmates were apparently charmed by the idea, given the excited chatter that would start once the subject was brought up. 

But if soulmates were truly meant for each other, then why did he have to spend nights like these lying awake, listening to his parents’ heated arguments?

He’d been told that he was being a cynic about the whole thing, and while he felt a stab of bitterness at the comment, he couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe they were right. His parents might have been simply an aggravated example of a weaker bond connection, after all.

It was a foolish notion, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be proven wrong.

* * *

He had been too careless.

_“ALASTOR, TURN THAT RADIO DOWN-”_

Far too careless.

_“I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK IN THIS HOUSE-”_

He barely had enough time to reach for the dials when a rough hand caught his arm in a vice grip, yanking him in the opposite direction. The stench of alcohol clung to the air, and Alastor could only pray that whatever abuse awaited him would end quickly. He was thrown onto the floor; discarded as if he had been a mere rag doll.

“Robert, please, he’s just a child!” Came his mother’s shrill cry. 

His father rounded on her furiously, drawing back an arm and-

… The radio lay smashed against the merciless, polished wood flooring, now stained with blood. And with it were the shattered remains of Alastor’s belief in the entire concept of soulmates.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! evie here with an idea that's honestly been sitting around for a while, but i finally worked up the nerve to write it down! forgive me for any mistakes i'll make, this is my first time writing for this fandom ;w;
> 
> constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated !!
> 
> anyway, that's all from me for now; thanks for reading! and until the next chapter... stay tuned =)


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